THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


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SONNETS   IN   SHADOW. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


ARLO    BATES. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1887. 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


Bmbtnilg  |)r»i: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


PS 


H.  L.  V.  B. 


1O35925 


T\/TOST  lives  are  like  or  tree  or  shrub  or  weed, 
And  slow  or  swift  to  flower  and  fruitage  grow  j 
Or,  broken  ere  their  -prime,  forlornly  show 
But  blighted  bud,  promise  of  fruit  or  seed. 

Not  so  was  thine,  nor  such  excuse  did  need. 
Thy  life  was  like  a  crystal,  perfect  so 
Whene'er  growth  ended.      Time  could  but  bestow 

More  space  to  prove  worth  still  by  newer  deed. 

Like  a  rare  gem  where  richest  star-fires  play, 

Flashing  a  hundred  tinted  flames,  which  yet 
Is  white  and  lucent  as  the  drop  which  day 

With  its  first  burning  sunbeam  touches,  set 

Upon  the  tip  of  some  fresh  hawthorn  spray,  — 
Such  was  thy  lifej  so  rich,  so  pure  alway. 


AND  yet  not  so;  since  cold  the  reddest  fire 
Ever  from  diamond  or  dew-drop  burned; 
While  what  sweet  warmth  and  ardor  are  inurned 
Where  ihou  art  laid,  might  tell  nor  pen  nor  lyre. 

One  sits  by  his  lone  hearth,  and  sees  mount  higher 
The  flame  toward  which  of  old  two  faces  turned ; 
Most  like  it  is  the  spirit  which  sojourned 

Awhile  beside  it.     When  it  shall  expire, 

To  what  cold  dust  its  cinders  fall  amain. 

What  cheer  and  sense  of  home  while  it  endure; 
What  desolation  waiting  on  its  wane! 

How  perfect  joy  thy  presence  did  insure; 

How  hopeless  life  without  thee,  and  how  -vainj 
The  flame  once  sped,  the  ashes  are  so  poor! 


SONNETS    IN    SHADOW. 


i. 


A  FTER  fate  smites,  the  heart  at  first  is  dumb, 
•**•     And  neither  feels  nor  can  believe  its  woe. 

Then  past  the  torpid  soul  the  gray  days  go, 
And  lay  their  curious  fingers,  chill  and  numb, 

Upon  its  wounds,  till  pain  has  reached  its  sum, 
And  the  soul  cries  in  agony ;  while  slow 
And  unreal  as  the  shapes  that  visions  show 

The  stealthy  days  glide  on,  until  is  come 

Some  dreadful  morn  that  with  its  mocking  sneer 

Gives  full  assurance,  and  the  spirit  there 
Yields  up  at  last  even  the  right  to  fear. 

No  more  it  recks  if  life  be  foul  or  fair, 

Or  cries,  "This  cannot  be  ! "  but  sitteth  drear, 
Owning,  "  It  is  !  "  calm  in  its  blank  despair. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


T    ITTLE  by  little,  as  some  down-trod  weed 
*-*     Leaf  after  leaf  lifts  painfully  again, 

Does  life  renew  its  uses.     Though  remain 
Desire  nor  hope,  though  every  heart-wound  bleed, 

Nature's  high  law  no  mortal  may  impede 
In  its  remorseless  working.     Wholly  vain 
Protest  or  strife  ;  we  to  obey  are  fain, 

Slaves  of  strong  destiny  in  thought  and  deed. 

As  those  whom  destiny  compels,  we  take 

One  after  one  all  life's  old  duties  up  ; 
Its  cares  and  fears,  its  terror  and  its  ache ; 

Even  its  joys,  though  each,  an  empty  cup 
Where  once  was  wine,  but  serves  the  thought 

to  wake 
Of  draught  divine  we  once  did  from  it  sup. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


TX7HAT   is    this    monstrous   thing   called    death? 
*  *  What  plea 

Within  the  universe  can  justify 
Its  presence  ?    How  can  even  one  man  die 

Nor  yet  the  world  to  utter  ruin  be 

Hurled  instantly  ?    Creatures  of  nothing,  we 
Raise  all  our  outraged  souls  in  one  fierce  cry 
Against  such  wrong ;  defiant,  lift  on  high 

Our  empty  arms,  that  men  and  gods  may  see 

What  has  befallen  !     Though  most  impotent 

Our  protest  be ;  though  all  the  powers  whose  hate 
Still  wreaks  itself  on  hapless  man  be  bent 

To  crush  our  hearts  with  woes  unmitigate, 

For  justice  will  we  clamor,  vehement, 
Against  this  crime  unspeakable  of  fate  ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


n. 


T  \  7"  AS  it  for  this  that  love  was  given  man, 
*  ^       As  to  the  tortured  wretch  they  would  not  kill, 
Stretched  on  the  rack,  to  keep  him  living  still 
Inquisitors  dole  scanty  drops?    The  plan 

Infernal  craft  devised,  lest  when  to  ban 
By  death  it  sought,  it  bless  against  its  will ! 
Were  love  unknown,  who  could  find  death  an  ill, 

Or  fail  to  bless  the  shortening  of  life's  span? 

As  wind-dried  leaves  crushed  in  a  giant  hand 

Our  hearts  are  broken  by  malignant  fate. 
The  spring  of  love  that  made  them  once  expand 

But  nourished  them  to  feed  immortal  hate. 

Oh,  woe,  that  even  love  was  only  planned 
To  serve  a  cruelty  insatiate  ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


III. 


what  avail  is  it  with  death  to  chide? 
Can  deepest  anguish  move  the  stubborn  fates  ? 
Or  good  or  evil  for  each  mortal  waits 
Whether  we  pray  or  curse  or  passive  bide. 

Yet  when  the  grave-sods  our  beloved  hide, 

Our  being  all  its  powers  dedicates 

To  wring  from  that  dread  hand  which  arbitrates, 
Some  miracle  return  them  to  our  side. 

The  whole  sad  soul  dissolves  into  a  prayer 
So  mighty  that  it  seems  it  could  not  fail. 
The  eager  spirit  searches  everywhere 

/ 
For  avenues  by  which  heaven  to  assail. 

We  lose  all  self  in  plea  beyond  compare ;  — 
And  yet,  of  what  avail,  of  what  avail ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


IV. 


T  T  OW  dreadful  is  the  languor  of  the  soul 

•*•  -*•      Which  neither  hopes  nor  fears,  which  has  no  care 

For  great  or  small ;  indifferent  how  fare 
Alike  the  highway's  dusts,  the  stars  that  roll. 

When  death  takes  love  he  takes  at  once  the  whole 
Life  has  of  worth.     Thereafter  earth  nor  air 
Nor  pearl-rich  sea  can  longer  anywhere 

Give  to  the  desolate  or  joy  or  dole. 

If  it  be  morn  or  noon  or  amber  eve, 

If  sun  or  moon  or  cloud  possess  the  sky, 
If  foes  be  kind,  if  trusted  friends  deceive, 

If  fortune  load  with  gifts  or  pass  us  by,  — 

What  does  it  matter?  What  should  glad  or  grieve 
Now  that  indifferent  the  loved  doth  lie  ? 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


V. 


'"PHERE  is  such  power  even  in  smallest  things 
-*•    To  bring  the  dear  past  back  ;  a  flower's  tint, 

A  snatch  of  some  old  song,  the  fleeting  glint 
Of  sunbeams  on  the  wave,  —  each  vivid  brings 

The  lost  days  up,  as  from  the  idle  strings 
Of  wind-harp  sad  a  breeze  evokes  the  hint 
Of  antique  tunes.    A  glove  which  keeps  imprint 

Of  a  loved  hand  the  heart  with  torture  wrings 

By  memory  of  a  clasp  meant  more  than  speech  ; 
J 'A  face  seen  in  the  crowd  with  curve  of  cheek 
Or  sweep  of  eyelash  our  woe's  core  can  reach. 

How  strong  is  love  to  yearn  and  yet  how  weak 

To  strive  with  fate,  the  lesson  all  things  teach, 
As  of  the  past  in  myriad  ways  they  speak. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


"T^EATH  so  brings  all  life's  standards  unto  naught 
•*-^  That  joy,  in  dismal  paradox,  brings  pain, 
And  sorrow  pleasure ;  joy  is  void  and  vain 
When  it  but  stabs  the  heart  with  bitter  thought 


Of  one  who  may  not  share  it.    Woe  is  fraught 
At  least  with  the  remembrance  that  this  bane 
Hurts  not  the  dead,  till  we,  heart-sick,  are  fain 

Give  thanks  that  death  to  them  has  respite  brought ; 

While  joy  so  cruel  is,  no  pang  is  spared 

In  memories  of  bliss  our  hearts  have  known. 
Bitter  it  is  to  bear  a  grief  unshared ; 

But  bitterer  to  meet  our  joys  alone. 

Once  only  for  the  bliss  of  life  we  cared  ; 
In  desolation  bliss  makes  sharpest  moan. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


VI. 


T  X  7E  know  the  tales  of  death,  whose  measures  run 
*  *     On  drowned  sailors,  lying  lank  and  chill 
Under  the  sirupy  green  wave  ;  and  still, 
White  maids,  to  whose  beds  fleshless  death  has  won, 

Instead  of  love ;  the  fair,  pale  bride  undone 
By  the  dread  ravisher,  while  yet  no  ill 
Had  marred  her  joy ;  dotards  whose  years  fulfil 

A  century,  to  end  as  they  begun  : 

But  who  of  all  the  dead  is  dead  to  us 

Until  fate  smites  our  own  ?     Or  maid  or  bride, 
Dotard  or  mariner,  though  dolorous 

His  dying  be,  't  is  as  a  dream  beside 

The  fiery  reality  when  thus 
Death's  very  self  enters  where  we  abide. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


VII. 

T  F  it  should  be  we  are  watched  unaware 

•*•   By  those  who  have  gone  from  us ;  if  our  sighs 

Ring  in  their  ears ;  if  tears  that  scald  our  eyes 
They  see  and  long  to  stanch ;  if  our  despair 

Fills  them  with  anguish,  —  we  must  learn  to  bear 
In  strength  of  silence.     Howso  doubt  denies 
It  cannot  give  assurance  which  defies 

All  peradventure ;  and  if  anywhere 

Our  loved  grieve  with  our  grieving,  cruel  we 

To  cherish  selfishness  of  woe.     The  chance 
Should  keep  us  steadfast.     Tortured  utterly, 

This  hope  alone  in  all  the  world's  expanse 

We  clutch  forlornly ;  how  deep  love  can  be, 
Griefs  silence  proving  more  than  utterance. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


VIII. 

T  T  OW  absolute  the  solitude  death  brings. 
•^  •*•   Though  by  the  heartless  insolence  of  fate 

Life  still  goes  on  ;  though  friends  compassionate 
About  us  throng,  —  the  heart  so  strongly  clings 

Unto  the  past's  perfect  companionings 

That  all  the  world  seems  void  and  desolate. 
Once  e'en  the  waste  we  walked  in  kingly  state 

Since  our  loved  shared  in  thought  our  journeyings 

Now  vacant  are  alike  the  thronging  street 

And  those  familiar  rooms  where  memory 
Pictures  that  presence  still  which  used  to  greet 

Our  steps  returning.     Empty  utterly 

The  universe  for  us,  if  faith,  more  fleet 
Than  doubt,  outrun  not  cold  uncertainty. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


IX. 


VER  for  consolation  grief  is  told 
How  worse  might  be,  and  woe  be  heaped  on  woe,- 
As  if  the  present  pain  were  softened  so, 
Made  less  by  fancied  evils  manifold. 

Would  the  impoverished  diver  be  consoled, 

When  from  his  hand  the  pearl,  like  melting  snow, 
Slips  to  plunge  darkling  in  the  tide  below, 

That  the  void  shell  has  not  escaped  his  hold? 

When  love  has  from  our  longing  arms  been  torn, 

What  boots  it  if  the  empty  world  we  grasp  ? 
To  those  who  this  supreme  bereavement  mourn 

It  little  matters  what  woe  follows  fast ! 

The  worst  that  fate  can  do  already  borne, 
The  very  meaning  of  such  dread  is  past. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


X. 


E  might  endure  the  day,  wear  out  the  night ; 
It  is  the  morning  hour  that  wrings  the  heart,  — 
When  from  fair  dreams  that  lulled  our  pain  we  start, 
And  find  the  world  dissolved  in  misty  light, 

While  far  aloof  the  day-star  glitters  bright, 

As  't  were  the  loved  one's  soul  which  draws  apart 
From  whispering  us  in  sleep.    How  keen  the  smart 

Of  meeting  life  afresh,  the  bitter  fight 

With  grief  renewing ;  while,  glad  with  the  day, 

The  birds  sing  in  sheer  bliss  to  be  alive, 
The  winged  breeze  crisps  the  trees  into  spray 

Of  verdant  waves  that  lisp  like  wort-rubbed  hive 
Of  gold-girt  bees ;  and  night  we  cannot  stay, 
Or  hush  the  jocund  noise,  howe'er  we  strive  ! 


SONNEl^S  IN  SHADOW. 


XL 


best  of  friends,  if  fate  their  ways  doth  part, 
Grow  strange  through  severance  of  their  daily  round. 
New  interests  hold  them ;  one  by  one  are  found 
Hopes  they  share  not  together ;  and  though  heart 

To  heart  still  cling,  no  longer  the  same  smart 
They  feel,  no  more  with  the  same  joyance  bound. 
The  union  once  like  concord  of  sweet  sound 

Does  separation  mar  with  cunning  art. 

When  this  we  note,  the  bitter  doubt  is  born 

If  death's  division  shall  work  ruin  so 
In  love's  communion  ;  if  each  weary  morn 

Finds  us  remoter  from  the  heart  we  know. 

Ah,  cruel  fate,  if  e'en  the  hope  forlorn 
Of  unseen  friendship  needs  must  fail  our  woe  ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


T  X  7HATEVER  faith  believe,  still  is  out-run 
*  *    This  pleasant  earth-life  which  love  made  so  sweet. 
Though  we  again  in  other  worlds  shall  meet, 
This  joyousness  forevermore  is  done. 

Life  there  may  be  more  fair ;  more  bright  the  sun, 
More  fragrant  meads  in  which  shall  stray  our  feet, 
Love's  blisses  linger  long  and  sorrows  fleet ; 

But  howso  rich  in  joys  that  future,  none 

Can  soothe  our  present  pain,  when  hand  seeks  hand 

And  finds  it  not ;  when  that  dear  voice  is  stilled 
Scarce  needed  word  to  make  us  understand 

The  heart's  best  secrets ;  when  that  smile  which  filled 

The  world  with  light,  the  glance  which  could  command 
Our  soul's  best  use,  relentless  fate  has  chilled. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XII. 


npHOUGH  faith  be  dead,  yet  will  our  hope  outrun 
-*-     Even  the  grave's  doubt  with  triumphant  might, 

To  reach  some  Devachan  forever  bright 
Where  all  earth's  wrong  and  anguish  are  undone  ; 

Where  as  some  awful  star,  dual  though  one,  — 

Two  throbbing  heart-fires  in  one  sphere  of  light,  — 
Does  soul  with  soul  beloved  so  unite 

As  they  had  ne'er  been  two  since  time  begun. 

What  were  the  clasp  of  hand  by  hand,  of  eye 

The  glance  to  eye,  even  of  lip  on  lip 
The  holy  rapture,  with  such  bliss  to  vie  ? 

Ah,  though  this  be  illusion  fate  will  strip 

Full  soon,  an  hour  it  lifts  us  to  the  sky, 
And  with  the  gods  gives  us  full  fellowship  ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XIII. 


T  T  7HEN  from  all  smallest  trifles  we  have  spun 
*  *     Those  threads  as  strong  as  steel,  though  cobweb 

fine, 

Which  bind  us  each  to  each,  and  thus  divine 
Made  homely  cares,  to  know  such  living  done 

Brings  weariness  of  all  beneath  the  sun. 
Infinite  tasks  are  now  those  toils  combine 
To  make  our  days ;  we  hate  those  coils  intvvine 

To  hamper,  when  we  swift  life's  course  would  run. 

All  duties,  howe'er  dull,  we  patient  bore, 

Since  their  use  served  our  love ;  but  now  they  tease 
Our  very  soul  with  importunings  sore. 

Even  the  stripes  of  fate  sting  less  than  these 

Gnat-bites  of  circumstance,  which  evermore 
Rankle  with  venom  nothing  can  appease. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


"WET  is  there  blessing  even  in  the  fret 
-*•    Of  petty  tasks,  their  ministry  to  save 

The  thoughts  from  deeps  of  woe,  as  from  the  wave 
Thorns  lift  the  wretch  who,  falling,  holds  them  yet 

Despite  their  sting.     A  moment  we  forget 
Our  grief  for  teasing  cares ;  as  to  a  slave 
A  queen  might  give  a  thought  denied  the  brave, 

Since  on  her  path  intrusive  feet  he  set. 

When  all  life's  bliss  could  the  bereaved  heart 
From  its  deep,  brooding  woe  never  beguile, 
The  homely  round  of  life  draws  us  apart 

From  sorrow's  drear  absorption,  and  awhile 
We  are  unconscious  of  the  burning  smart. 
Toil  only  life  and  grief  can  reconcile. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XIV. 

T  T  is  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  still, 

*~    And  yet  again  to-morrow  that  our  peace 

Shall  come  once  more  ;  that  time  shall  bring  surcease 
From  pain,  and  rest  the  yearning  bosom  fill ; 

While  ever  is  to-day  a  brooding  ill 

Which  shuts  us  in  :  and  life  finds  no  release 
From  its  numb  ache  and  terror,  while  decrease, 

To  fight  despair,  the  energy  and  will. 

To-morrow,  still  to-morrow,  while  to-day 
Ever  of  waning  hope  tells  by  its  gloom. 
That  sweet  mirage,  to-morrow,  fades  away 

Till  it  is  distant  as  the  morn  of  doom. 

We  chase  it  alway  with  no  power  to  stay, 
Since  there  is  no  to-morrow  save  the  tomb. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XV. 


T  "K  7ITH  dulcimer,  citole,  and  psaltery, 
^  *      Tabor  and  pipe,  and  all  the  gauds  of  joy, 

Has  Love  been  painted,  a  soft,  wanton  boy 
Dear  to  the  nymphs  and  satyrs  rude  with  glee. 

They  who  in  sorrow  sit  more  truthfully 

Know  Love  the  sable-winged,  strong  to  destroy 
All  life's  illusions  ;  mighty  to  employ 

The  soul's  best  powers ;  noble,  pure,  and  free. 

The  rosy  cherubs,  like  light  butterflies, 

Vanish  with  gloom  ;  while  night  with  flame  enspheres 
The  love  which  is  immortal  whoso  dies. 

He  shows  the  soul  the  angels  as  its  peers ; 

Above  the  present  bids  the  thought  arise  ; 
And  slakes  the  heart's  thirst  from  his  cup  of  tears. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XVI. 

1 VER  is  new,  however  old,  despair. 

The  weary  toiler  to  his  load,  the  nun 
To  her  strait  cell,  grow  wonted ;  one  by  one 
We  tire  of  joys  and  wear  out  all  things  fair. 

But  sorrow  is  immortal.     From  the  glare 
Of  flames  it  seems  to  die  in,  toward  the  sun 
It  springs  new-born,  its  Phoenix-course  to  run. 

Its  blight  and  shadow  follow  everywhere, 

Fire  in  hot,  blinding  day,  but  double  gloom 

In  darksome  night.     Where  may  one  flee  or  hide 
From  its  approach,  as  terrible  as  doom  ? 

In  all  the  shores  found  by  the  searching  tide 

There  is  no  hope,  save  it  be  in  the  tomb,  — 
Oh,  do  our  loved  in  safety  there  abide  ? 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XVII. 


A  S  flower- soft  Moorish  girls,  who  circling  dance 
•**•     Like  dusky  moths  about  the  torch's  flame ; 

Or  as  fierce  bearded  Goths  no  man  might  tame, 
Striking  their  clanging  shields  with  brazen  lance, 

Once  memories  came,  desire's  impassioned  trance 

Awaking,  or  inspiring  thirst  for  fame. 

But  where  we  sit  to  weep,  with  steps  of  shame, 
In  charnel  cerements  wound,  they  now  advance 

Like  shapes  dragged  from  their  tombs.     However  fair 
They  once  have  been,  the  grave-taint  mars  them  all ; 
Their  hollow  tones  are  keyed  but  to  despair. 

Could  we  forget  when  on  the  coffin  fall 

The  leaden  clods,  time  might  our  woe  outwear : 
Would  God  that  memory  shared  the  loved  one's  pall ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


"\7ET  loss  were  double  loss  did  we  forget. 

Who  once  has  loved  begrudges  not  to  pay, 
Since  needs  must  be,  with  ache  of  heart  alway 
For  love's  divine ;  and  thus  the  seal  is  set 

That  marks  his  passion  true.     The  sun  lives  yet, 
When  night's  black  ruin  has  o'erwhelmed  the  day ; 
And  death,  which  claims  the  loved  one,  cannot  slay 

Love,  the  immortal.     Are  not  our  eyes  wet? 

If  we  no  longer  loved  why  should  we  weep  ? 
Since  still  we  love,  we  bless  that  memory 
Which  makes  love  possible  and  strong  and  deep. 

Bitter  the  fruit  we  pluck  from  memory's  tree, 

And  yet  its  acrid  husks  a  kernel  keep 
Sweeter  than  honey  of  Hymettian  bee. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XVIII. 

T    IKE  to  a  coin,  passing  from  hand  to  hand, 
•*— '    Are  common  memories,  and  day  by  day 

The  sharpness  of  their  impress  wears  away. 
But  love's  remembrances  unspoiled  withstand 

The  touch  of  time,  as  in  an  antique  land 

Where  some  proud  town  old  centuries  did  slay, 
Intaglios  buried  lie,  still  in  decay 

Perfect  and  precious  spite  of  grinding  sand. 

What  fame  or  joy  or  sorrow  has  been  ours, 

What  we  have  hoped  or  feared,  we  may  forget. 
The  clearness  of  all  memory  time  deflours, 

Save  that  of  love  alone,  persistent  yet 

Though  sure  oblivion  all  things  else  devours, 
Its  tracings  firm  as  when  they  first  were  set. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XIX. 

T  N  our  remembrances  one  poignant  thought 
•*•    Will  haunt  us  still,  as  may  some  single  note 

Wail  from  the  horns,  then  murmur  from  the  throat 
Of  hautboys  sad,  and  yet  again  be  caught 

By  shrilling  viols,  with  all  passion  fraught ; 

Now  high,  now  low,  now  near,  and  now  remote, 
Over  the  tide  of  sound  seeming  to  float, 

As  all  without  that  tone  must  come  to  naught. 

How  deep  is  woe  if  memory's  key-note  be 

Not  sweet,  but  sad  with  wrong's  remembered  ache 
Lost  joy  we  weep,  but  what  repentant  plea 

From  memory  of  wrong  the  sting  can  take  ! 
The  weight  of  grief  may  not  crush  utterly, 
But  with  remorse  the  bravest  heart  must  break. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XX. 


"T^EATH  in  its  amber  sets  the  happy  past 
•"-^    With  all  its  colors  fair,  like  those  bright  flies 
That  sunned  their  wings  beneath  the  young  world's 

skies, 
And  still  shine  gem-like  long  as  time  shall  last. 

Sorrows  that  might  their  shadow  on  love  cast, 

Doubts  that  might  blight,  or  griefs  that  might  arise, 
Can  mar  it  not.     Safely  enshrined  it  lies, 

Perfect  forever,  all  its  beauties  fast. 

Though  this  be  all,  still  is  it  much  to  hold 
The  consolation  of  remembrance  pure, 
That  cannot  fade,  or  alter  or  wax  old  : 

If  this  be  earnest  of  some  future  sure, 

In  what  winged  words  can  its  high  worth  be  told  ! 
Till  all  be  known,  our  hearts  can  but  endure. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


T  F  like  the  torch  flame  which  some  Druid  hoar 
-1    Quenched  in  a  sacrifice,  the  spirit  dies 

When  sense  and  seeing  from  the  well-loved  eyes 
Fade  utterly,  and  every  empty  shore 

In  all  the  desolate  universe  evermore 
Even  to  search  of  God  himself  denies 
Its  shape  or  being,  what  can  heart  devise 

Of  hope  or  comfort  for  its  anguish  sore  ? 

There  is  no  comfort  save  the  bitter  thought 

That  we  at  least  alone  our  sorrow  bear ; 
That  if  the  soul  for  which  we  yearn  is  naught, 

It  cannot  writhe  in  ever  fresh  despair 

That  we  are  parted ;  and  that  death  has  wrought 
On  us  alone  this  hurt  beyond  repair. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXI. 

F  all  the  myriad  ways  which  lead  to  Hell 

The  lowest  deep  seeks  that  through  Paradise. 
For  every  by-gone  bliss  we  must  the  price 
Of  agony  with  no  abatement  tell. 

Of  each  dear  love  Fate  keeps  the  tally  well, 
And  scores  the  cost  with  an  exactness  nice 
Beyond  a  Shylock's  reckoning.     No  device 

Can  cheat  her  avarice.     The  Sisters  sell, 

Not  give,  their  boons ;  and  dearly  all  men  pay 

To  utmost  farthing  for  what  seems  a  gift. 
Yet  when  grief  brings  of  settlement  the  day, 

The  heart  none  of  its  load  of  debt  would  shift ; 

Though  sold  to  be  the  slave  of  woe  alway, 
In  love  it  glories  at  its  own  unthrift. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXII. 

T  T  OW  can  we  call  this  love  which  selfishly 

•*•  "*•   Mourns  its  own  pain  ?    Surely  if  love  were  true, 

So  would  it  fill  the  soul  as  to  undo 
All  thought  of  self,  how  sharp  soe'er  pain  be. 

How  fares  it  with  our  dear  loved  dead,  while  we 
Are  torn  with  anguish  ?     Do  they  suffer  too, 
Thus  to  be  parted  ?     Does  each  morn  anew 

Wake  them  to  sorrow  fresh ;  each  even  see 

Them  faint  with  separation's  pain  intense? 

How  poor  is  love,  when  baffled  thus  we  moan 
And  reach  them  not,  even  by  subtilest  sense  j 

And  poorer  far,  when  our  own  woe  alone 

Stifles  the  heart  into  indifference, 
Forgets  to  shudder  at  their  griefs  unknown. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXIII. 

TXT"  HO  has  not,  smiling,  in  some  happiest  day, — 
*  *     Trifling  with  pain  because  so  perfect  seemed 
The  present  joy,  the  foolish  heart  esteemed 
It  wise  fate's  jealousy  thus  to  allay,  — 

Said,  "  Love,  should  we  be  parted  !  "  and  straightway 
Such  stab  of  anguish  felt,  it  might  be  deemed 
Already  loss  had  come.    Yet  who  has  dreamed, 

Even  with  eyes  dimmed  so,  what  keen  dismay 

And  burning,  blighting  sorrow  death  can  bring? 
"Should  we  be  parted  !  "  murmur  loving  lips, 
But  loving  hearts  still  to  the  faith  will  cling 

That  parting  cannot  be ;  until  death  strips 

All  its  illusions  from  it,  swallowing 
Comfort  and  faith  alike  in  bleak  eclipse. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXIV. 


T  X  THEN  two  souls  have  been  truly  blent  in  one, 
*  *     It  could  not  chance  that  one  should  cease  to  be 
And  one  remain  alive.     'T  were  falsity 
To  all  that  has  been  to  count  union  done 

Because  death  blinds  the  sight.    Such  threads  are  spun 
By  dear  communion  as  e'en  the  dread  Three 
Cannot  or  cut  or  disentangle.     Sea 

From  shore  the  moon  may  draw ;  but  two  drops  run 

Together,  what  may  separate  ?    What  thought 

Touched  but  one  brain  ?     What  pulse-beat,  faint  or 

high, 
Did  not  each  heart  share  duly?    There  is  naught 

In  all  we  do  or  dream,  from  lightest  sigh 

To  weightiest  deed,  by  which  we  are  not  taught 
We  live  together  and  together  die. 


SONNETS  fN  SHADOW. 


II. 


"\7"ET  is  the  time  so  long,  so  long,  so  long  ! 
•*•    And  all  the  wiles  by  which  we  would  persuade 

Our  hearts  to  think  it  short  are  idly  made. 
With  leaden  feet  the  bitter-hearted  throng 

Of  moments  pass  us,  each  a  new,  slow  wrong. 
We  fear  no  pang  that  may  the  life  invade, 
But  of  the  lagging  days  we  are  afraid, 

And  shrink  as  slaves  cringe  from  the  stinging  thong. 

We  did  not  dream,  until  grief  made  us  wise, 

Such  vasts  of  time  could  stretch  between  day's  eve 
And  dew-wet  morn.     Never  can  joy  surmise 

How  long  are  sorrow's  hours.     Clocks  deceive 

With  formal  count  that  mocks  in  specious  lies  : 
Time's  measure  truly  know  but  those  who  grieve. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


III. 


f~\  FT  death  looks  fair  before  our  fevered  eyes 
^-^  As  the  rose-garden  of  the  Niblung  queen, 

Which  glowed  so  jewel  red  and  white  and  green ; 
But  like  the  silken  twine  unto  that  prize 

Sole  barrier,  a  film  of  doubt  denies 

Us  entrance.     Slender  till  it  scarce  is  seen, 
It  yet  is  strong  as  wall  of  steel  between 

Our  life  which  is  and  what  in  darkness  lies. 

Though  even  hope  be  lost,  there  is  the  chance 

Our  loved  may  live,  the  thought  our  loved  may  know, 
Restrains  from  desperate  self-deliverance. 

It  is  not  dread  of  death  or  unknown  woe, 

But  lest  they,  watching  with  love's  vigilance, 
Should  see  our  deed  and  be  heart-wounded  so. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXV. 


A  S  some  flame-crooked,  venomed  Malay  blade 
•**•  Writhes  snake-like  through  a  dusky  woman's  side, 

Its  film  of  poison  deep  within  to  hide, 
Does  sorrow  pierce,  life's  inmost  to  invade ; 

While  human  comfort  would  our  hearts  persuade 
That  in  the  hand  of  Time  doth  balm  abide. 
Shall  time  our  hearts  from  the  old  love  divide  ? 

Vain  were  a  hope  could  so  our  faith  degrade. 

What  have  we  left  save  fealty  alone  ? 

Shall  we  to  Time  this  jewel  yield,  which  yet 
Vows  of  a  faith  eternal  made  our  own  ? 

The  drop  most  bitter  in  woe's  beaker  set 

Is  doubt  of  our  soul's  firmness  :  he  has  known 
Griefs  sharpest  who  has  feared  he  may  forget ! 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


A  ND  yet  is  Time  a  mighty  angel,  strong 
"**•  For  noble  uses,  who  shall  teach  the  soul 

That  bliss  is  not  of  life  the  noblest  goal. 
He  who,  woe-blind,  staggers  with  love  along 

Like  a  corpse-bearer,  does  it  cruel  wrong, 

And  thrusts  on  his  beloved  dead,  whose  whole 
Desire  to  bless,  the  curse  to  be  his  dole. 

Love  that  is  true,  above  the  trivial  throng 

Of  hopes  and  fears,  even  o'er  joy  and  pain, 

Lifts  the  soul  up  to  duty's  awful  height. 
From  sorrow's  gloomy  vales,  who  loves  shall  gain 

The  holy  hills,  led  onward  through  griefs  night 

By  love's  white  star,  that  steadfast  doth  remain 
To  draw  him  upward  by  its  heavenly  light. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXVI. 


T  T  7HEN  souls  new-born  in  darkness  of  the  tomb 
*  *      Soar  up  ethereal  unto  loftier  spheres, 
It  scarce  can  be  that  earthly  hopes  and  fears 
Cheer  them  or  cumber  longer.     Though  our  doom 

Keep  us  intent  on  shadows  in  life's  gloom, 
To  them  the  light  of  truth  in  glory  nears. 
That  still  our  souls  and  theirs  may  walk  as  peers, 

That  glow  immortal  must  our  sight  illume. 

Let  us  no  more  watch  phantoms  ;  on  the  fleet, 

Vain  shows  of  life  no  longer  fix  our  eyes. 
Toward  eternal  truth  be  set  our  feet, 

Until  to  theirs  our  lofty  pathway  rise ; 

For  spirit-pure  companionship  be  meet, 
And  hold  our  way  with  theirs  along  the  skies. 


SOAWETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


A  S  dying  Roland  to  God  solemnly, 
•**•     At  awful  Ronceval,  lifted  his  glove 

Crimson  with  pagan  gore,  must  we,  above 
All  petty  passions,  the  heart  steadfastly 

Hold  up  on  high,  all  bleeding  though  it  be 

From  sorrow's  wounds.     By  memory  of  the  love 
Which  has  been  ours,  —  though  hope,  like  the  ark's 
dove, 

Return  no  more,  —  all  consecrate  are  we. 

The  heart  which  once  such  love  as  we  have  known 

Has  touched,  forevermore  is  dedicate 
To  holy  use ;  as  when  some  god  has  shown, 

By  portent  high,  the  stone  decreed  by  fate 

To  be  his  shrine.     No  more  it  is  our  own  : 
It  is  an  altar  where  we  humble  wait. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXVII. 


E  must  be  nobler  for  our  dead,  be  sure, 

Than  for  the  quick.    We  might  their  living  eyes 
Deceive  with  gloss  of  seeming ;  but  all  lies 
Were  vain  to  cheat  a  prescience  spirit-pure. 

Our  soul's  true  worth  and  aim,  however  poor, 
They  see  who  watch  us  from  some  deathless  skies 
With  glance  death-quickened.     That  no  sad  surprise 

Sting  them  in  seeing,  be  ours  to  secure. 

Living,  our  loved  ones  make  us  what  they  dream  ; 

Dead,  if  they  see,  they  know  us  as  we  are. 
Henceforward  we  must  be,  not  merely  seem. 

Bitterer  woe  than  death  it  were  by  far 

To  fail  their  hopes  who  love  us  to  redeem  ; 
Loss  were  thrice  loss  that  thus  their  faith  should  mar. 


SONA'ETS  IN  SHADOW. 


II. 


V/'ET  if  it  were  not  so,  nor  anywhere 
•*•      In  all  the  universe  lived  on  that  soul 

Which  had  for  us  been  all,  —  while  stars  still  roll 
And  the  sun  shines  nor  is  the  world  less  fair 

Though  all  their  use  is  done,  —  still  were  our  care 
To  be  what  love  believed  us.     Bliss  or  dole 
Were  naught  beside  the  longings  which  control 

Heroic  hearts.     Shut  in  by  grim  despair, 

Still  is  there  left  for  them  the  high  emprise, 

The  flattery  of  love  to  justify. 
Despite  the  weight  of  woe  forbids  to  rise, 

They  strive,  brave  though  forlorn,  to  soar  so  high 

Love's  honor  is  unsmirched  in  all  men's  eyes, 
Since  they  make  true  its  most  exacting  lie. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXVIII. 


T    IFE  chooses  pain,  the  sole  inheritance 

••-"'    To  all  her  children  doled.    What  mother  so 

A  birthright  that  was  evil  could  bestow  ? 
Dull  savage  women  brave  the  worst  mischance 

To  shield  their  babes  ;  and  brutes  will  fight  the  lance 
That  threats  their  cubs,  be  they  however  low. 
Against  the  mother-love  all  creatures  show, 

To  count  man  born  of  hate  were  dissonance. 

Ah,  Mother  mystical !     May  it  then  be 

That  pain,  which  seems  so  terrible  a  gift, 
Is  the  best  blessing  we  could  take  from  thee  ? 

A  little  might  the  thought  the  darkness  lift ; 

It  were  a  light  by  which  the  way  to  see 
As  when  the  moon  breaks  through  the  storm-cloud's  rift. 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


XXIX. 

H,  egotism  of  agony  !     While  we 

Weep  thus  sore-stricken,  filling  earth  with  moan, 
The  feet  of  those  we  love,  through  ways  unknown, 
Brought  into  lands  of  living  light  may  be. 

E'en  our  tear-blinded  eyes  can  dimly  see 

What  heights  are  reached  by  sorrow's  paths  alone, 
Where  heavenly  joy  and  radiance  shall  atone 

For  gloom  and  woe  have  held  us  utterly ; 

And  sure  our  dead,  loftier  of  soul,  and  now 

Free  from  the  weakness  human  sight  doth  mar, 
Must  death  with  power  and  vision  new  endow. 

If  we,  blind,  groping,  feel  the  truth  afar, 

They  wear  its  very  radiance  on  their  brow. 
Death  takes  a  rush-light,  but  he  gives  a  star  ! 


L  EN  VOL 


SONNETS  IN  SHADOW. 


I. 


T3UT  ivhat  are  empty  words,  when  all  is  said, 

To  voice  the  woe  which  is  too  wide  for  speech! 
After  the  inexpressible  we  reach, 
And  compass  it  no  more  than  we  the  dead 

Call  back.     As  once  to  joy  our  thoughts  they  led, 
Now  need  of  patience  all  the  sad  days  teach; 
Still,   ' '  Patience  — patience  — patience  / ' '    murmurs 
each, 

And  ever:  "Patience,  since  all  joy  is  fled" 

Grief  needs  no  proof;  words  cannot  cure  its  smart. 

When  it  has  striven  to  pour  to  the  lees 
Its  infinite  of  woe,  the  tortured  heart, 

Panting  from  vain  attempts  its  load  to  ease, 

Covers  its  lips,  and  steals  away  apart, 
There  to  sit  silent  with  its  memories. 


SOATATETS  IN  SHADOW. 


IT. 


f~\H,  thou  whose  precious  memory  needs  no  speech 
While  love  which  follows  it  none  can  impart, 
If  these  poor  words  may  find  thee  where  thou  art, 
What  they  would  say,  but  cannot,  needs  must  reach 

Thy  being's  core.     The  grief  which  moans  in  each 
And  chokes  its  own  best  utterance,  the  smart 
That  stings  beyond  all  telling,  thy  true  heart 

Will  to  itself  with  faultless  prescience  teach. 

Small  meaning  may  they  to  all  else  transmit; 

But  thou  wilt  in  them  seem  to  touch  my  hand 
And  seek  my  glance  to  ciire  the  woe  in  it. 

Even  though  tears  be  unknown  in  that  land, 

Thine  eyes  must  Jill,  since,  reading  what  is  writ, 
What  is  not  written  thou  wilt  understand ! 


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